


Erosion is the Enemy

by breatheforeverypart



Series: To the Victor Goes the Trauma [5]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dissociation, District 13 (Hunger Games), F/M, Flashbacks, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Inspired by The Hunger Games, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, the mind is a dark place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24969628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: Finnick is sent on a mission by Prim to deliver a message to Haymitch.  He gets lost on his way and winds up being found by his old friend.
Relationships: Finnick Odair / Annie Cresta, Finnick Odair / Johanna Mason, Haymitch Abernathy/Finnick Odair
Series: To the Victor Goes the Trauma [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776307
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Erosion is the Enemy

***

The hall blurred into a nondescript tunnel with no exit. Finnick paced the length of the narrow hall, his hand crumpling the paper held tightly in his fist.

He had an assignment. The nurse-in-training, the pale girl with the blonde braids had sent him on a mission. She had pressed a piece of rationed paper into his hands and updated the schedule stamped on the inside of his forearm.

The doors all looked the same. The numbers that labelled each dorm-style room swam before his eyes. 

The damn morphling dulled his brain, he could barely maintain residence in his body.

“Odair.” Stiff footsteps alerted Finnick to someone’s presence. His head snapped up, expecting a team of hospital uniforms ready and willing to restrain him.

An old man with dingy sweat curdled clothes swayed before Finnick. His face was gaunt, dark circles rimmed his eyes, but his mouth was opening and closing.

His fingers splayed against the concrete wall between two pods. “Odair, what’re you doing down here?” He snarled.

The greasy haired mentor who had saved his life on many a shitty engagement in the Capitol, stood transformed before him. His bright blue eyes rooted him to the spot.

Finnick drifted, clinging to the rope in his hands like a lifeline against the onslaught of memories.

***

_“The hell, Mason.” Slurred the mentor from District 12. “What am I doing here?”_

_Finnick peeled his cheek from the rim of the toilet seat as Johanna kicked open the bathroom door. He flinched at the noise, getting a whiff of the contents of his stomach currently laying in the bowl of the commode._

_“Kid?” Haymitch dropped the flask._

_“Shockingly, he’s drunk.” Johanna deadpanned. “Yet, he’s the only idiot I trust enough to call.” She continued rifling through the cabinets in the bathroom for anything resembling a medical kit._

_“Back at you, sweetheart.” Haymitch drawled, he grinned at her cheekily. “When I wanna end it all for good, I want your axe in my neck.”_

_“Promises, promises asshole.” Johanna seethed._

_A wave of dizziness forced his forehead into the rug at the base of the toilet._ _Finnick mumbled into the carpet. “Shut up.”_

_“He lives.” Haymitch squatted unceremoniously, flushing the contents of his stomach down Capitol pipes._ _“Get up. Now.”_

_“No.” He pleaded. Finnick couldn't feel most of his limbs, let alone consider arranging them to support his body._

_“Jo.” Haymitch directed, his arms wrapped around one of Finnick’s._ _“Into the shower.” The older mentor set his jaw determinedly, feigning indifference when the boy in his arms began to cry._

_Johanna hefted her friend’s other side and they moved out of sync towards the elaborate shower stall. Finnick's head struck the tiled wall as Johanna fiddled with the controls. “Shit.”_

_Finnick clutched at the thin fabric barely covering his abdomen and hips. The robe that half-covered him was a dark plum color, which masked any injuries._ _Frustration roiled Johanna’s gut. How could she help him? This situation seemed hopeless._

 _“Yeah? Shit is right.” Haymitch’s lip curled as he surveyed the boy’s body. No doubt he was hurt in more ways than the obvious way, Snow’s goddamn Victor’s prostitution ring._ _“How do you suggest we see what we’re working with sweetheart?”_

_“Get him naked?” Johanna quipped, her arms hugging herself._

_He gestured grandly towards the huddled mess of a man in the corner of the stall. “Be my guest.”_

_Narrowing her eyes, she reached for Finnick. He whimpered, recoiling from the touch. In lieu of empathy, rage boiled her blood. “Fine.” She jabbed a finger at the controls, sending a stream of warm water onto his body. “Have it your way.”_

_The mixture that ran off of his body, swirling around the drain was tinged with clotted blood._

_The scent of cooper filled the spacious shower. Johanna flew back in time, the axe heavy at her side. Warm blood coated every inch of her face. Her tongue flicked over her teeth, the taste of metal overpowering her senses. She was breathless with effort, four dead kids lay at her feet, their blood oozing into the earth of the arena._

_“Shit.” Haymitch frowned. “You find anything useful in there?”_

_District 12’s Victor’s accent snapped her attention back to the present._ _“Like a bunch of bandages?”_

_“Don’t sass me girl.” He caught the comically small box of first aid supplies, and threw it against the sink. The impact sending tremors down all of their spines._

_“Oh, fuck off.” Johanna crawled into the shower, hauling Finnick upright and slapping his cheek._

_Despite the cold droplets of water needling his body. Finnick willed himself to let go of consciousness. He did not want to do this anymore. Johanna’s palm hit his face, but he could not bring himself to respond._

***

Finnick’s arms are crossed and pinned to his chest.

“You done fightin’ me?” Haymitch growls, shoving the younger Victor into the railing. “I’m too old for this crap.” He sank to his knees, exhausted by the minimal physical effort. 

“Haymitch?” He blinked at his lap, the paper and length of rope in between his legs.

“Present.” He inclined his head. “Barely.” Haymitch exhaled, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Finnick gripped his thighs, savoring the feeling of his nails digging into his flesh. “Where are we?”

“’Ain’t that the question of the hour.” Haymitch smirked. “Somewhere deep under 13. I’ve been drying out thanks to that Coin woman’s no-liquor rule.”

“You look like…” He drifted, his brain unable to conjure the appropriate word.

Haymitch plucked the paper from the younger Victor’s lap. “Shit.” He supplied. “Then sobriety looks as bad as it feels.”

“Crazy looks just as good, huh?” Finnick muttered. 

“Too true Odair.” He untangled the paper, now damp with sweat and thin red lines from numerous paper cuts. He read the note, humming thoughtfully. “Huh. Prim sent you down here to get me.”

Finnick quirked an eyebrow in reply. “Almost managed it too.” He responded distantly. 

“We’re being summoned to a meeting. I don't usually take orders.” Haymitch ran a hand through his greasy hair. Dandruff fell onto the shoulders of his drab jumpsuit. “You got a schedule boy?” He reached for Finnick’s arm.

Haymitch had not been honored with a temporarily tattooed schedule because of the repeated cycles of sweats and vomiting associated with withdrawal. He’d still give his left arm for a bottle of Ripper’s white liquor. 

A headache pounded at Finnick’s temples. His forearm was firmly pulled out of his lap. Haymitch’s raggedy hair tickled the inside of his wrist and brought him back to the damp concrete bunker of District 13. “Maybe.” He continued drifting, waves of painful memories crashing against his skull. 

“What have they been pumping you full of?” Haymitch squinted at him. “Care to share.” He added, cursing himself for being at all hopeful at the thought of stealing drugs from a shell of a man.

Suddenly Haymitch dropped Finnick’s arm, watching the limb fall limply against the floor. This was not the Finnick he knew and tolerated. When push came to shove, he really cared for the boy. He saw what he could have been molded into, had he obeyed President Snow. Instead, he had to live with the guilt that his actions in the Games had led to his mother's murder. 

Finnick could only manage to stare at the old grizzled Victor. Words washed out with the tide of thoughts in his mind, the relentless barrage of trauma permanently eroded his memory.

He wanted to say how much he needed Haymitch. He wanted to say how much he regretted everything he had done since his Games. What he actually said, was illogical, even to his dissociated self. “I want them to be dead.”

Haymitch nodded. “Yeah.”

He knew the ‘who’, Finnick was referring to. Katniss wandered the halls somewhere above them, blaming him for Peeta’s imminent death. That Cresta girl, Johanna Mason, even Enobaria, if there were any all-knowing entity in the damned universe they would grant quick deaths to the remaining Victors. “If we’re gonna talk about this, I’m going to need some lunch.” 

“A meal.” Finnick echoed.

***

_“He won’t leave. If he keeps this up, they’re going to send Peacekeepers.” Beetee held a hand over his mouth, carefully avoiding the cameras._

_His own tribute had died in the initial bloodbath at the Cornucopia. District 4’s girl had miraculously survived several encounters with toxic plants, but was dehydrated and stumbling blindly towards the Career pack. Their boy was missing in action, he was either very good at hiding or was dying somewhere in the woods._

_Brutus was annoying confident, stuffing his face with cheese and berry tarts in the dining area. From their perch at the railing Finnick could see Chaff make a clumsy grab for Haymitch’s shoulder, which resulted in both intoxicated Victors tumbling into the buffet table._

_Enobaria flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, stalking the duo. “And what are you suggesting I do?” Finnick sighed and turned his attention back to Beetee._

_With one finger he pushed his glasses towards the bridge of his nose. “Well, he needs to leave or we’re all in trouble.”_

_A new voice joined the chorus of Victors arguing below them, and both men started down the stairs. Blight caught Johanna around the waist, tugging her towards the District 7 station._

_“You take him, I’ll get her.” Beetee huffed, decades older and wiser than Finnick._

_Finnick murmured as he pivoted towards the impending scuffle. “You owe me.” Not waiting for an answer, he morphed into the Capitol’s plaything. “Enobaria, you’re bored with the games already? Your tribute is a contender.”_

_“They always are Odair.” She snapped, baring her modified fangs. “Yours will be dead by morning.”_

_“Oh, don’t count me and Mags out just yet.” He smiled, sauntering towards her. “What do we have here?” Chaff reached towards him, grinning like a fool. The red in his eyes betrayed how long he had been drinking._

_District 11’s tributes had died at the hands of Brutus’ tribute. He had gutted Chaff’s boy, taken his time carving out organs. Even Enobaria had looked away, biting at a perfectly manicured nail._

_“_ _Living off the Capital, fish-boy.” Chaff garbled. “Have a drink.”_

_“Later.” Finnick winked, letting the Victors surrounding him believe he would be communing with numerous Capitol lovers well into the night. “For now, I think we should grab a bite. Haymitch, let’s go.”_

_“I’m doing liquid meals.” He slurred, attempting to stand on wobbly legs._

_“Counting calories?” Finnick hauled the older Victor upright, he pulled one of his arms around his neck. “I never pegged you for the fitness guru.”_

_Haymitch barked out a laugh, leaning his head heavily against Finnick’s neck as they departed the mentoring hall._

_“_ _Fucking hell Chaff, don’t you dare.” Johanna threatened. She pulled her body away from the olde man's swinging head, trying to avoid any potential vomit._

_Blight stepped on Finnick’s heel. “Sorry, where’re we going?” He asked, Chaff hanging between him and Johanna._

_“My suite.” He answered, Finnick’s stomach clenching at the knowledge that Snow’s own pocketbook was housing him during these Games. “You better be on your best behavior Haymitch, Mags is sleeping.”_

_“_ _Shhh.” He acknowledged. “Mags’ girl is dead too. They always die, better that way.” He muttered the last words so quietly, it was inaudible to anyone except Finnick’s cursed ears._

***

Haymitch steered Finnick through the maze of partitions in the hospital wing. District 13 managed to organize all of their citizens within an inch of their lives. Supplies were rationed with a religious fervor. How hard would it be to liberate a bit of morphling to take the edge of his withdrawal? 

Several nurses, nearly a dozen by his count halted their work as Finnick shuffled by the other patients. Even in his nearly catatonic state, the boy still turned heads.

Now it was pitying glances that he collected, not the invitations of the Capitol elite to rape him, but it filled Haymitch with a rage all the same.

“Here.” Haymitch grunted, trying to clear the emotion from his throat. Finnick stood in front of the bed, tears gathering in his eyes. His hands picked at the garish yellow bracelet that labeled him a danger to himself. 

“Come here boy.” Haymitch turned the younger man and firmly pushed him into a sitting position.

Finnick melted at the touch, his spine sloughing off in chunks of vertebrae as his body curled protectively in on itself. He covered his mouth with both hands, struggling to suppress a scream. His teeth pulled at the fleshy part of his hand, desperate for relief from the torrent of nightmares. Consciousness did not alleviate the flashbacks. 

“Damn it.” Haymitch swore, his palms sweaty with frustration and fear. “Odair.” He started, unsure of the conclusion of the sentence leaving his mouth.

“Annie needs to be dead, she can’t be alive. He’ll do…he’s using her to kill me.” He gasped for breath, his fingers tearing at his throat.

Haymitch wrenched the young Victor’s fingers off of his own neck, one at a time. “I know.”

His hands trembled, unsure what to do now that they were unable to harm himself. “They need to be dead.” He rasped. “Jo made me promise. I broke it, I didn’t kill her before they took her.”

Haymitch gathered Finnick in his arms. He stroked the back of his neck, whispering fiercely into his ear. “I know boy, I know.” He repeated himself, hating that he was not more articulate. He hoped that the words he left unsaid, the words that he could not say, would be understood by the broken and brutalized Victor from District 4.

Haymitch rocked Finnick, his own face streaked with tears. The warm body felt heavy in his arms, the only company he had chosen for decades was the company of Ripper’s moonshine. Haymitch had lost everything. Snow had taken his mother, his girlfriend and every single tribute from District 12 for twenty-four damn years.

He remembered all of their names, he drank until they blurred into one never-ending list of ghosts. Finnick’s ghosts dragged him to hell and back on Capitol silken sheets stained with his own blood. 

Finnick’s sobs quieted. He lifted his head, his face splotchy and tracked in tears. He accepted the rope that Haymitch extracted from his pocket.

“You promised me a meal.” Haymitch forced a deep breath of antiseptic scented air into his lungs. “Let’s see what they’ve got for you, Odair. I bet those nurses gave you extra.”

Finnick crossed his legs on the lumpy mattress, knotting the rope in his lap. “A meal.” He echoed.

“Yup.” Haymitch shook his head, lifting the cover on the tray of food. “I guess I gotta start eating actual meals.”

Finnick held the knot up to the older Victor, blinking in recognition. “No more liquid diet.” He remembered dragging his drunk ass out of the Hall of Mentors one year. It felt real. 

“That’s what I’ve been told.” Haymitch grunted, tearing a roll in half. “I bet your ass, you can get extra butter. I ain't charming, you are.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at Finnick’s chapped lips. “Yeah, the nurse with the flowery name. She likes when I eat.”

“That’s Everdeen’s sister. Of course, you’ve got her wrapped around your finger.” Haymitch laughed. “How’s the bread?”

Finnick lifted a hand to his mouth, the warm roll steaming in his face. “Good.”

“Liar.” Haymitch retorted. “Take a bite first.”

Finnick chewed slowly, listening to Haymitch complain about everything District 13 had to offer. His old friend’s words washed over him, lulling him into a false peace. He could almost feel the sun, warming him as he floated in the bay near his cottage.

Haymitch and the length of rope, warm in his hands tethered him to this moment. His lucidity frayed at the edges, his mind fuzzy, but the sharpness of Haymitch’s drawl grounded him. Finnick fought with himself to stay in his body, to stay with his fellow survivor, the only other person in this damned underground city to understand his broken brain.


End file.
